Page 165 of Pack Frenzy
But it’s close enough to breathe.
CHAPTER 40
JESS
The verdict comes down just before noon.
Guilty.
The word lands like a punch under my ribs—sharp, hollow, echoing.
I swear the air thins and my ears ring. Sabrina’s face flashes behind my eyes, the way she used to grin when she beat me at cards, her wrist flicking that stupid silver bracelet.
Blake looks stunned, then narrows his eyes at me and mouths,bitch. Something animal and vicious surges through my chest—good, you piece of shit, I hope you rot—and I bare my teeth in a grin that feels carved from bone.
I flip him off. My hand is steady. My heart is slamming so hard I can feel it in my throat, my wrists, behind my eyes. I want to scream at him. I want to ask him if he still feels her nails as she fought for her life.
I want to claw his face until there's nothing left to look at, until the world can finally stop pretending he’s human. Instead, I hold that grin until my cheeks ache.
Eli, Cassian, Rowan, and my dad step between us as cops drag him toward the doors.
My hands shake so hard my fingers ache, but I don’t cry. Not here. Not in front of him.
I won’t let the man who stole my sister’s last moments steal my tears, too.
Blake Callighan. Guilty.
The word tastes like vengeance and sea salt and every nightmare I’ve had since she vanished.
His father. Guilty.
The man who bankrolled the monster.
My nails bite into my palms.
The tech guy—the one Blake paid to wipe the cruise footage. Guilty. I stare at the back of his head and imagine grabbing him by the collar, shaking him until his teeth rattle.
You watched her die. You saw what he did to her, and you made it disappear. You madeherdisappear.
Every Nexus executive, counselor, and guard named in the case—guilty. Guilty. Guilty. The word stops sounding like a word. It becomes a drumbeat. A verdict. A door finally, finally slamming shut.
A whole system that should’ve protected girls like us…rotting now behind bars.
Good.
The news cycle runs wild for days with photos of their arrests, interviews with families of the missing, endless footage of the Nexus building being emptied and padlocked.
A few days later, my phone buzzes with a news alert.
My throat tightens before I even read it.
“Inmate found dead in state prison, no foul play suspected.”
Blake Callighan.
For a long moment, I feel nothing. My brain runs the sentence back like a skipping record:dead, dead, dead.
I wait for satisfaction. For closure. For the thing everyone says you're supposed to feel when the monster stops breathing.
